


to bruise

by mercutiowasababe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Bratting, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Jaskier is a Brat, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutiowasababe/pseuds/mercutiowasababe
Summary: "Hey, I think your friend just showed up."Jaskier informs Geralt that due to them spending winter in a noble's court together he'll be taking the opportunity to finally bed him. He has a funny way of working himself into Geralt's bed, but, of course, it works.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first smut fic, it's kinda filthy because why the fuck not
> 
> there's some sadism in this fic, nothing too graphic I don't think. Just let me know if you feel I should tag it and I will. Jaskier is a full on brat in this. This is just me writing the fic I wanna see in this fandom lol

“You know Geralt,” Jaskier’s hand trails casually across his shoulders as he slowly circles around him before settling into his side, facing the mirror to Geralt’s back. Jaskier’s hand has settled on his chest, gentle, warm, and he turns to brush his lips across the shell of Geralt’s ear, breath almost tickling. Geralt keeps his breath steady, focusing on the annoyingly small buttons of his doublet, ignoring the fluttering sensation in his belly. “I’ve made a decision.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at that. Jaskier’s decisions rarely turn out to be good ones and the playful tone of his voice only assures Geralt that this one is going to be a particularly poor one. “Oh?” He can practically hear Jaskier’s pout, clearly upset by Geralt’s refusal to take the bait. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?” Geralt smirks and tries to bat Jaskier’s hand away so he can continue buttoning his garment. Jaskier does move his hand, but only to begin undoing the buttons from the bottom up with surprising ease and efficiency. Geralt huffs in annoyance. 

“Jaskier.” He says it like a warning and he finally turns to level Jaskier with a stern look. Their noses bump. Jaskier smirks and continues to pop open the buttons, but slower now. Geralt glances down to Jaskier’s mouth, watches as he sucks his bottom lip under his teeth, pink, wet, and so enticing.

“I’ve decided I like it better unbuttoned.” Geralt allows him a moment to stop before he wraps his hand around Jaskier’s wrist. He watches Jaskier’s expression shift as he slowly tightens his grip, Jaskier’s pupils dilate, his sucks in a quiet gasp, his eyebrows knit together, his body heat spikes. Geralt leans in closer before he can stop himself, reveling in the scent of Jaskier’s sweat mingling with a hint of lust. He tightens his grip until he knows he’s causing Jaskier pain, likes the way it makes him let out a small whine, the sound of him trying to breathe through it slowly, but never looking away from his gaze. 

No matter how tight Geralt’s grip becomes he never smells the sharp, acrid scent of fear mixing into his increasingly overwhelming scent of lust. It’s a heady experience, the way Jaskier doesn’t back down at all, allowing Geralt to do this, even seemingly enjoying it. Jaskier’s breath puffs against Geralt’s lips, hot, enticing. It makes Geralt’s eyes flutter, tracing the shape of Jaskier’s nose, and he draws even closer to the curve of Jaskier’s neck. He’s spent years now restraining himself from peppering that neck with markings, making it obvious who he belongs to. He’s overwhelmed by the desire to wrap his hand around Jaskier’s neck and squeeze. How long could he hold Jaskier before the fear pours in.

“Behave yourself Jaskier.” He pulls his eyes away from Jaskier’s and tries to stifle his violent desires. He slowly releases his grip, careful to not let the blood rush back into his hand too quickly, suddenly ashamed of his need to own, to control, to mark. He rubs Jaskier’s hand inbetween his two, gently, carefully, massaging it. Jaskier lets out a soft hum, something pleased. Geralt can’t help but glance over at him to see how his expression has morphed into something filthy. 

“But I don’t want to behave myself, Geralt.” There’s a knock on the door at catches Jaskier’s attention and Geralt releases his hand to return to his doublet and his buttons. He returns to his buttons as he leaves Jaskier to deal with who ever’s at the door. He turns to look at himself in the mirror, much happier with the clothes Jaskier has chosen for him this time around. He’s kept him in his usual black palette, thankfully, but still added in that Jaskier flair with heavy embroidery, also in black. Geralt hates to admit it but he likes it, the embroidery thread caught the light in an interesting way and it fits him quite well. 

Another of Jaskier’s endless talents, knowing the measurements of those lucky few who have caught his eye, accurate within a half-inch. 

“Come along, Geralt, we’ve been summoned to the dining hall.” Jaskier loops his arm into his and pulls him along as they follow the maid down the halls. Jaskier turns to him, leaning close into Geralt’s space, and whispers in his ear, “That decision I’ve made?” Geralt looks at Jaskier, confused because he thought he’d already discovered Jaskier’s great decision for the evening. 

“I’m going to finally bed you.” 

This is going to be a very long winter. 

Geralt’s leaned against a column, watching Jaskier really play up this crowd. At some point he’d popped a few buttons of his own, modesty be damned, allowing everyone a glimpse at his chest hair. He started out on the elevated stage but as per his usual he’d jumped off of it almost immediately. Jaskier loved weaving around the crowd, interacting with them, touching them, winking and flirting, and being as immodest as possible. 

Geralt is amused by his antics, even more so when he sees how most people blanche at his actions. 

“My, it’s absolutely obscene, isn’t it?” Geralt glances at the woman who muttered it, but she’s fanning herself, cheeks bright red, completely incapable of tearing her eyes away from him. Geralt smirks, he knows why Jaskier gets these requests so often, to become resident bard for the nobility. He challenges their ideals of modesty, makes them blush, makes them want, he plays right into what they deny ever desiring at all. 

Geralt’s hold on his mug gets much tighter as he watches one of the women of the court slide into Jaskier’s arms mid-song and steal a kiss. One that lasts entirely too long. One that Jaskier chases after, hands not missing a single note, eyes fluttering, expression absolutely filthy. Jaskier had informed Geralt earlier in the evening of his plans to manipulate his way into his bed, after several years of endless, confusing, intriguing flirting. This was quite an interesting path he’s chosen. He tried to suppress his sudden desire to lay claim to Jaskier in front of this entire crowd, marking him with bruises and his teeth and his come. It was a fleeting desire, easily repressed. Jaskier was his friend, an endless flirt, and he wanted to do nothing that might jeopardize the trust Jaskier had for him. The strange, magical thing between them that allows Geralt the pleasure of squeezing his friend’s wrist hard enough to cut off blood flow and never once smelling of fear. 

He tears his eyes away from Jaskier and scans the crowds for a servant who can replenish his soon to be empty glass. 

It, of course, doesn’t take much longer for Jaskier to track him down, his warm hands once again gliding along his shoulders. He closes his eyes, desperate to ignore the way this sensation pours down his body, warm like sugar. 

“If you’d like to see the rest of the show,” Jaskier’s tone is so quiet, so full of haughty satisfaction, there’s no one in this crowd who could have heard him other than Geralt himself. Jaskier leans in tauntingly close now, lips moving against his cheek, feeling for all the world like a messy, drunken, sloppy kiss. “Come to our hall.” And like that, Jaskier and all the hot warmth he seeps, all the intoxicating scents of lust, musk, and orange peel scented soaps disappear with him. It was just a few seconds, nothing anyone else would have noticed, even if they’d been looking. It still takes a moment for Geralt to open his eyes, to loosen his grip on his glass, to process what he’d said. His cheek was still cool from the spit Jaskier had left behind. 

Geralt drained his drink and went about finding another one. 

“Hey, I think your friend just showed up.” A bright, loud giggle fills the hall and Geralt grinds his teeth at the sound of it. He tries not to be embarrassed by his inability to sneak up on a couple in the middle of lovemaking because it seems like Jaskier’s coached her to keep a look out for him. 

He watches them, the way Jaskier holds her wrists above her head with one hand, the other one lost under the layers of her skirts. Jaskier catches her moans with his mouth on hers, trails his mouth down her neck, biting with a roughness that makes her moan and whine simultaneously. He licks at the mark he’s left and Geralt realizes he’s fucking her with his fingers when his arm starts pumping much quicker. 

Seeing him like this, fucking some beautiful noble woman, marking her skin, bringing her closer and closer to her climax was infuriating. He’d been told Jaskier’s intentions were to be in his bed, not to spend the winter fucking his way through their benefactor’s guests. 

She comes with a shout, her chest heaving, her body shaking. That’s when Jaskier turns to look directly at him, mouth red and smeared in rouge. Geralt watches, body tense, fury and jealousy blooming in his chest, being bombarded by the waves of the scent of their lust, their sex, her come. Jaskier’s pupils are blown wide as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks her slick off of them, daring Geralt to watch, to smell, to see. 

“Bard, bard, please.” Her voice is breathy, little louder than a whisper, and practically begging. 

“Please what, love?” Jaskier doesn’t look away from Geralt for a second, even as he flicks his tongue out to lick around the shell of his lover’s ear. She whines at the contact, desperately pressing her body into his, trying to move her hands from under his grasp. Jaskier doesn’t let her move her hands an inch. 

“Please fuck me.” Jaskier winks at Geralt and turns back to his lover, burying his face in her neck.

“Love, I’m fairly certain I just did.”

“Please fuck me with your cock, bard. You insufferable tease.” Geralt listens to Jaskier’s low chuckle as he watches Jaskier hikes her legs up around his waist and slowly starts rocking into her. The tone of every sound she makes suddenly shifts much lower. Geralt can feel his cock filling at the sight of Jaskier slowly fucking into her. 

“Don’t you dare move your hands, love.” Jaskier moves his hands from where he’s been holding her wrists above her head and wraps them around her thighs to better the angle and the speed at which he’s fucking her. She doesn’t move her hands. “Oh, ho ho, good girl.” Jaskier swallows up every sound she makes with his mouth and Geralt knows he’s not doing it to keep her quiet. Jaskier clearly likes the thrill of being watched, of the idea of getting caught, it’s got to be the only reason he keeps burying his cock in the very small circles of nobility. 

Geralt had to admit that this was a beautiful sight. It made his blood burn hot and Geralt hold onto the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He was overwhelmed by his need to rip Jaskier away from this woman and lock him up in their rooms. He wanted to bruise him for this, mark him so that everyone would know whose he was. Something that would really set the nobility into a tizzy. 

She lets out a particularly loud moan and she regains his attention, suddenly tuned back into every filthy thing she was whispering into Jaskier’s ear. She was close, and Jaskier shows no sign of being interested in stopping or slowing. She breaks. Her arms wrap around Jaskier’s shoulders, one hand pulling on his hair and the other one disappearing into his shirt to grab and scratch at during her climax. 

“Oh, love. Tsk, tsk.” Jaskier rocks his hips into her, fucking her slowly through it. He waited until her legs relaxed in her arms to drop her feet to the floor and place his hands on her shoulders. “On your knees.” Her face was bright red, pupils blown wide, skin sparkling with a thin sheen of sweat. She smiled as she slowly sank to her knees and tucked her arms behind her back, each hand holding the other elbow. Jaskier had one hand wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking himself, while his other hand twisted into her hair. She opened her mouth and waited, watching his hand stroke himself, waiting patiently. 

Geralt watches as Jaskier slowly sinks his cock into her mouth. She breathes through it, eyes fluttering as she registers the taste of her own cunt. Jaskier’s other hand wraps around to the base if her head as he slowly begins fucking her face. 

“Good girl,” Jaskier moans it more than he says it, slowly picking up the pace, choking her on his cock. Every choked sound, every loud gasp for air she makes Jaskier pick up his pace, makes Geralt tighten his grip on the railing. Geralt’s cock is rock hard and leaking in his breeches but he refuses to touch himself. 

Jaskier holds her flush to his groin as he comes. She sputters, incapable of breathing, but swallows. Geralt doesn’t realize that he’s been holding his breath until she’s finally allowed to take one herself. She gasps loudly, breathing quick and hard, her breasts bouncing heavily with her chest. Jaskier smears the drool on her chin as she tucks him away, buttoning his pants for him. He’s muttering a stream of praise for her the entire time. 

Geralt leaves when he sees Jaskier help her stand up and presses her back to the wall to continue pressing kisses to her skin. Geralt’s frustrated, insanely hard, and desperate to control his desire to see how pretty Jaskier would look choking on his own cock. He wants to make Jaskier compliant, wants to control him, wants to tame him, and force him, and own him. He’s spent years holding this back, locking his desires away, keeping himself restrained. Jaskier, the fucking insolent little shit is going to get himself hurt if he keeps up this teasing. Geralt wants to parade him through these halls, in front of everyone, with thick, terrifying purple hand prints on his throat, claiming him, marking him, ruining and controlling him.


	2. encore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have posted this as one long fic, but it seemed right to break it up into chapters

“Oh, Geralt? Why’d you run away?” Geralt can hear the disappointment in his voice, can see the pout on his face, as he stumbles into the room. He’s left is dark on purpose, so that he could see Jaskier but he could not see him. 

“On your knees.” Jaskier smirks at that, wild, and does as he’s told. 

“Oh, Geralt, have I finally managed,”

“Close the door, bard.” Jaskier raises an eyebrow, and shoots an incredulous face in the general vicinity he thinks Geralt’s voice is coming from. 

“Should I do it on my knees, witcher? Or would you like me to stand.” He’s truly testing Geralt’s patience tonight. 

“On your knees.” Jaskier huffs, put upon, and kicks the door closed without even turning around to look at it. Geralt moves silently, barefoot, and quickly. He can hear Jaskier’s gasp at the sudden contact, can easily see Jaskier’s confusion as Geralt grabs his wrists. 

“What are you,” 

“Silence, bard. Do not speak until you’ve been spoken to.” Geralt wraps the cloth around Jaskier’s wrists, tugging him into place when Jaskier tries to pull away, testing his boundaries. He can smell Jaskier’s growing lust tinting the air. It hangs in the air, making it heavy, and it would’ve made Geralt’s loins stir if he weren’t still hard from that little display he’d just walked away from. Jaskier looks over at his shoulder at Geralt, incapable of seeing him, but still looking for him, smirking, haughty. Geralt wants to grab his face by his cheeks and wipe that look right off. He settles for growling as he ties the cloth around him much tighter than necessary. 

“Oh? And what will you do to me if I don’t keep quiet, witcher?” He says witcher like an insult, the way he’s seen Geralt grind his teeth to a hundred times before, knows it gets under his skin, knows it’s deeply irritating. Geralt can smell his body heat spiking back up, despite the sweat that still coats his skin from earlier. He finishes his knot and wraps his hand around Jaskier’s mouth, pulling him back into his chest, and buries his nose in Jaskier’s neck, taking in a deep breath. He can smell the sex, the sweat, the lust on his skin. It makes his whole body go taut. He wraps his free hand slowly around Jaskier’s neck, and squeezes. He can smell the hint, just a small drop, of Jaskier’s fear mixing in with all his other, lovely, intoxicating, heady scents. He smiles into Jaskier’s skin, and licks a long, slow stripe along his tendon, up to Jaskier’s ear. 

“Then I’ll make sure you can’t make another sound at all.” Geralt feels Jaskier’s body tense, his jaw tightens at the threat. They are here because of Jaskier’s voice after all. Geralt lets his hand fall from Jaskier’s mouth and he feels proud when Jaskier says nothing. 

“Good boy.” He can hear Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath, smell the way his lust spikes, feel the wayhis body shivers at the praise. Geralt bites at his ear, just enough to make Jaskier hiss at the sudden pain. He’s tempting himself, on the edge of a knife, rock hard, and clinging to his restraint. Jaskier held his tongue and Geralt kept his nose buried in his neck, one hand wrapped around his throat, and he breathed. The scent of him was overwhelming now, so strong he was practically choking on it.

He doesn’t realize he’s been slowly squeezing Jaskier’ throat all this time, tighter and tighter, until Jaskier lets out a desperate gasp for air. It’s made Jaskier’s scent of lust double in strength, totally robbed Geralt of his control for a moment. He shivers, hard, at the sound of it, at his realization that despite his actions Jaskier’s scent of fear never increased, never once spiked higher. In fact, the fear was totally gone from his scent.

Geralt rutted against him, uncontrollably, growling, and he grabbed a handful of Jaskier’s chemise, pulled it until Jaskier’s shoulder was visible, and bit down. He breathed hard, feeling Jaskier’s whole body tense at the sensation, listening to his little gasp of pain, the way Jaskier rutted at the air, desperate for friction. 

Gods, this was ripping him apart. He never thought Jaskier would want this, the pain, as much as Geralt wanted to give it. He eased his teeth off his skin, gentle, painfully aware that he’s bitten down hard enough to leave a large bruise in the skin. Jaskier moans when he licks at the indentions he’s left behind, his heart beat sputtering when he nuzzles it, basking in the scent of Jaskier’s lust mixed with his own saliva. 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this, the teasing. He doesn’t know how much longer he can restrain himself. Each moan Jaskier makes when Geralt digs into his skin, leaving his mark behind, makes him that much wilder, that much more encouraged to do it again, to make his skin his canvas. He growls again and drops his hand from Jaskier’s throat, suddenly terrified that he really will leave a deep bruise, incapable of hiding. Jaskier wines at the los of his warmth, his touch, but doesn’t speak. It makes something flutter in Geralt’s chest, makes him feel proud, that Jaskier’s already submitted this much, this quickly. 

“Fuck, Jaskier, you’ll be the death of me.” Geralt mumbles into the skin of Jaskier’s neck before he stands up, circles him, watching Jaskier silently follow the sound of his footsteps, made audible. He looks gorgeous like this, clothes askew, a bright red mark on his shoulder, clearly growing hard in his trousers already despite his release just a moments ago. 

Geralt sits on the chair, directly in front of Jaskier, and waits. He watches Jaskier breathing hard in the pitch black room, hands tied behind his back. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to start squirming, silently begging for contact of any kind. He watches, indulging in the power he holds over his bard, in the knowledge that Jaskier would sit on his knees absolutely silent for no one else. Geralt’s chin is resting in his hand, perched on the arm of the chair, and he palms his erection through his pants. 

Jaskier’s pupils widen the moment Geralt lets out a keening moan, quiet, slow, low, grumbling, as he continues to touch himself. Jaskier opens his mouth, clearly about to complain, frustration clear on his face before he catches himself, closing his jaw with a loud snap. Geralt rewards him with a louder moan, and begins to untie the lacing of his breeches. 

Jaskier grinds his teeth and begins to hobble forward, towards Geralt, angry he’s been left out of the fun. 

“Stop.” Geralt makes his voice loud, impossible to deny. Jaskier does, but his entire body is tense, wanting, angry. Geralt smiles at the sight of it, all of his bard’s muscles pulled taught with his restraint. “Good boy, little lark.” Jaskier’s eyes flutter at the praise, and his body shivers. Geralt’s cock twitches at the sight of it. He finishes opening his trousers and pulls himself out, stroking slowly. 

“Now, come forward.” Jaskier hesitates, clearly unused to being ordered around. He does it though, stopping the moment he feels Geralt’s shins touch his chest, and he leans his head forward, trying to nuzzle into Geralt’s thigh, but he catches him by the hair and pulls him back. “No, no, little lark. I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?” Jaskier huffs, glowering up at where he thinks Geralt’s eyes might be. Geralt can’t help but let out a little chuckle at his bard’s frustration, the tendons in his neck pulled tight. Geralt tugs his hair hard as punishment for the glower. “Come, come, bard. Behave yourself.” Jaskier lets out a groan at the sensation, mouth parting open to let in a breathless gasp. Geralt continues to stroke himself at the sight of Jaskier’s neck pulled taught, bare to him, long and slender and beautiful. He pulls Jaskier by the hair to press his cheek into Geralt’s cock, forcing him to feel Geralt stroking himself, so close to where he wants to be but unable to twist his head and taste. Jaskier moans, deep, needing, and the scent of lust fills the room. 

Geralt strokes himself to completion, just like that, sputtering his come over Jaskier’s cheek, his neck, his shoulder. Jaskier lets out a low, angry, frustrated sound when he feels Geralt’s come on his skin. Geralt lets go of his hair, pushing him away from his body. Jaskier tries to return to Geralt’s lap in his haze, his need, his want.

“Don’t. Move.” Jaskier stills, breathing hard, desperate, cheeks bright red, eyes closed. Geralt takes his chin and turns his head to the side to better see his seed on his bard’s skin. It soothes something in his chest, takes just a little bit of that edge off. He’s still hard. Witcher’s stamina. “Tell me, little lark, how do your knees feel?” Jaskier smirks and says nothing. Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s chin, took hard, can see his fingers digging deep into Jaskier’s skin, and asks again, “Tell me, bard. How do they feel?” 

“My knees ache. I’ll have bruising in the morning.” Jaskier’s been on his knees for longer than half an hour now, he won’t be so easily bruised at all, but it makes Geralt hum with pleasure regardless. He lets go of Jaskier’s chin but Jaskier keeps his face at that angle, showing off the come himself now, proud. 

“Tell me what you want, little lark.” Geralt sits back in his chair and watches Jaskier slowly work his jaw, trying to put together what he wants, what he thinks he’ll be realistically rewarded with. 

“To touch you.” That makes Geralt’s cock twitch, a spike of lust curling into his stomach, his blood running even hotter. He hadn’t expected Jaskier to ask for something so simple, so easy, so fucking tempting. He grabs a handful of his bard’s hair and buries his face in his lap, groaning at the way his cock slides on his own come on the bard’s cheek. Jaskier moans, sticking his tongue out and licking at his balls, at the side of his cock, licking up at the smeared come and moaning at the taste of it. It makes Geralt growl at the feeling of it, makes his blood rush, makes him loose his grip on his control for just a moment. He yanks hard enough on Jaskier’s hair that he hisses in pain, but then groans into it, burying his nose in the skin of his groin, still lapping at any expanse he can reach. 

“Fuck, Jaskier.” Geralt grins his hips into Jaskier’s face, suddenly desperate for more touch. 

“Fuck my mouth, witcher.” Geralt keens, trying desperately to hold back his moan at the request. Geralt pulls his head back, squeezing Jaskier’s cheeks hard enough to feel his teeth under the skin. 

“Did I say you could speak, bard?” Jaskier moans at the feeling again, clearly enjoying the mistreatment, bucking his hips at the air again, still desperate. It makes Geralt’s head swim. Jaskier blinks his eyes open, bleary, eyes almost completely black with his want, looking almost hypnotized. 

“Sorry, Sir.” Geralt preens at the title, releasing Jaskier’s face so he can gently trace the shape of Jaskier’s mouth. His lips are still bright red from his earlier dalliance, a swatch of rouge smeared on the corner of his mouth. He looks completely gone, he opens his mouth at the touch of Geralt’s fingers. Geralt slips his thumb onto his tongue and Jaskier sucks on it like it’s going to save him, eyes fluttering. 

“Good, good boy, little lark. You’re doing so well for me.” Geralt leans forward, removing his hand from Jaskier’s mouth so he can capture it with his own, kissing him hard. It sends a rush of pleasure down Geralt’s spine, it feels incredible, kissing his bard after all this time. Jaskier takes it eagerly, groaning into it, whining when Geralt sucks in his bottom lip and bites. Geralt pulls back, a line of spit still connecting them, and he looks directly into Jaskier’s eyes. He can see everything Jaskier wants in them, all of his desire, all of his want, all of the pleasure thrumming through his veins. He’s almost shaking with it. 

Geralt takes mercy on him, after all, Jaskier really has been taking all of this so very well. 

He pulls Jaskier forward once more, “Open your mouth little lark.” Jaskier’s eyes close as his shoulders finally relax, and he opens his mouth with a soft, hungry moan. Geralt slowly pulls Jaskier forward, sinking his cock into his bard’s mouth agonizingly slow. When his cock hits the back of Jaskier’s throat he pauses, letting Jaskier take this in his own time, petting him encouragingly. Jaskier sputters some, bobbing his head a few times, pressing his cock into the back of his throat, getting used to the shape of it, the feel of it, the taste. He hums, low, pleased, and it makes Geralt’s cock twitch. 

Soon Jaskier is pushing himself to take it deeper, swallowing around his cock, holding his breath, all the way down to the root. The second he gets there Geralt holds him there, can feel Jaskier sputtering, trying to pull away, desperate for air. Geralt holds him as long as he can before he lets Jaskier go, pulling back and coughing from his gag reflex, gasping for air. Geralt’s hand on his cheek soothes him, thumb rubbing circles over his cheekbone, letting out a short litany of praise, guiding him back to his cock. 

Jaskier takes it again and again, hungry for it every time he coughs, he sputters, desperate to pull out each and every sound Geralt gives him. Geralt keeps a loose grip on his throat to feel the shape of his cock in it time and time again. He tries to hold back each sound that he wants to make, not so willing to spur his little bard on, to fills his ego so quickly just yet. 

When he comes he holds Jaksier down on his cock, thrusting himself down his throat for the first time, rolling his hips into his face, ignoring every sound of protest Jaskier makes. When he finally releases him Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s thigh, breathing hard, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, looking completely gone. Geralt leans over him, one hand still in his hair to soothe him, while he undoes the ties around his wrists. The sudden rush of blod makes Jaskier hiss, and Geralt pulls his hands into his lap to rub them gently. 

“You were fucking gorgeous, little lark. Absolutely beautiful.” Jaksier smiles into his thigh, allowing Geralt to praise him, to soothe his skin. Once his breathing evens out Geralt runs his hands down to his shoulders, hooks his hands under them and slowly pulls Jaskier up into his lap, twisting him so that they’re sitting with Geralt’s chest flush to his back. He nuzzles himself into Jaskier’s neck and takes another deep breath. 

He smells of want, of need, of Geralt’s come, of his own drool, of sweat and musk and, hidden under all of that, he still smells of the noble woman he’d fucked only an hour ago. Geralt lets out a low, quiet growl, and slowly sinks his teeth into Jaskier’s neck once more. Jaskier groans, bucking his hips, wrapping one of his arms around Geralt’s neck and the other grabbing a hold of Geralt’s thigh to squeeze tightly. 

Geralt’s hand moves down from his waist where he’s holding him against his body to palm over Jaksier’s cock, feather light, more of a tease than anything else. Jaskier still keens, bucking into his touch. 

Geralt licks at the new bite mark, this one much lighter, but still stacked on top of the previous one, still sensitive for it. “Little lark, you’ve been so good. I think it’s time for your reward, don’t you?” Jaskier pants into his ear, still unwilling to speak and risk punishment. It makes Geralt hum with pleasure, so proud of his bard. Geralt unbuttons his trousers, tantalizingly slow, each button leading to another high pitched whine from Jaskier’s beautiful mouth. 

“Oh, Jaskier. You little slut, you’re not wearing any small clothes.” Geralt gives him another bite for that, lighter than he’s ever bitten before, but stacked on two bites it still forces a strangled, pained sound from Jaskier’s lips. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s cock twitch beneath his touch. He wraps his other hand around Jaskier’s neck, gentle, tilting his mouth into his own, as his hand wraps around Jaskier’s cock. He whines into his mouth, moaning, loud, frantic, bucking his hips, fucking himself into Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt makes short work of it, no longer teasing, as he strokes Jaskier to completion. He captures every single sound he makes, tells Jaskier every word of praise that he deserves into his mouth, breathing in hard, short gasps, breathing in every puff of air Jaskier lets out. He rests his forehead against Jaskier’s sporadically licking out at his mouth, capturing a kiss, landing a nibble on his bottom lip, as he waits for Jaskier to catch his breath. 

“Darling, carry me to bed. I don’t think I can walk.” Jaskier asks him after a long time here, in this chair, the both of them covered in each other’s come, body sore. Geralt hooks his arm under Jaskier’s legs and carrie shim bridal style to the bed, setting him down gently. He gently pulls Jaskier’s boots off and continues to undress him, presses open mouthed, warm kisses to every inch of skin, until he can feel Jaskier release the last ounce of tension from his body. He follows suit much more quickly, wrapping his bard in his arms and rubbing small, comforting circles in his back. 

“Geralt, that was incredible, love.” Geralt hums into the crown of his head, pleased. “But next time I’m going to push you to do every horrible, violent thing I know you want to do to me.” Geralt’s breath hitches at that, excited, interesting, caught completely off guard. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“I know exactly what I’m asking for love.” Geralt feels something foreign, strong, hot, fluttering bloom in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do with that, so pleased and calm just moments before, that he simply pulls Jaskier even closer into his arms, and buries his nose into his hair. 

“Sleep, lark.” Jaskier hums, pleased, warm, safe, marked. 

“Yes, Sir.” Geralt’s stomach flips at the title and if his little bard weren’t already asleep in his arms he’d be tempted to push his lover even further tonight. He was going to have to work a lot harder to fully tame his little brat.


End file.
